Clock Horizon
by chaoshead13
Summary: For every feather Arthur has on his wings is a month remaining in the life of Alfred F. Jones. With twelve feathers left, Alfred only has a year. Unseen and unheard, how can Arthur convince his charge to live his life to the fullest? Especially with his own powers dwindling with every feather lost? USUK
1. An angel for every hero

_A/N: I know, I know. I'm supposed to be working on my other fic. But, I had this story playing in my head and uh... Btw, this is rated M from the get go for the angel thing...religion and blasphemy and other stuff...sorry._

**USUK**

Everywhere, people were screaming. Crying. Lying. Dying.

Arthur could hear each word. Every whisper spoken. They uttered of a man lying broken in a pool of his own blood. A hero whose sacrifice would cost him his life.

"Human beings are so bloody stupid."

Lost in the masses of a crowd, Arthur observed the number of people grow. They gathered around him, completely engulfing the man with unknown faces – unknown voices. Everything seemed to centralize at a single point, countless gazes focusing on one dying man.

"You knew this would happen. Help them all you want, boy, but, all they're going to sodding do is watch you die. How long will it take for you to realize that?"

The green eyed male broke through the crowd. It was an easy thing; they could neither hear nor see him. He stepped into the eye of storm, glancing down -as everyone else – at the boy who lay bleeding.

"Don't worry, you're not going to die yet." Arthur uttered softly into the young man's ear. His voice was calm and soothing -just as an angel's should be. It was Arthur's hope that the American heard. Even if the boy's eyes did not reflect his face nor his ears vibrate with his words – the angel hoped to God that they pierced through. That, in these painful moments, comfort reached him.

Because there was no human being offering what the angel tried to give.

"I won't let you die, Alfred."

USUK

Alfred tightened the blanket around himself, creating a make-shift barrier from the outside. Just an inch from his bed stood the personification of the devil himself. Violet eyes ablaze, blond hair fizzed into a curly antennae that stood to attention in front of his forehead – truly a horrible sight.

"Mattie, I'm sorry! Really, really sorry!" Alfred uttered useless apologies under his shield. His punishment was about to be exacted. Because none could ease the fury of a brother scorned.

"Alfred. Do you have any idea what you did?"

The blue eyed male drew a breath, noting the repression in his sibling's voice. It wasn't the soft tone the man usually used. Nor was it the frustrated timbre that only showed itself when the man was aggravated.

"I saved a cat?" Alfred answered, his voice an entire pitch below a whisper. Hell was only a moments away from being set forth.

"You jumped in front of a pick up truck to save a cat!" Matthew tore the blanket off the injured man's body, leaving Alfred a vulnerable mess. But, he didn't stop there.

"WHO FUCKING DOES THAT ANYMORE!? Do you know you could have died?!" the violet eyed male screeched, his face burning a fiery red. Hell had arrived. "Why are you so stupid, eh?! MORON!"

Alfred shrunk away from the tyrannical form his brother. The yelling itself was evidence of the other man's anger. But, the swearing was a prelude to three hours worth of misery. "You almost cut a fucking artery, Alfred! What if you died, eh?! WHAT IF THE AMBULANCE DIDN'T GET THERE IN TIME?!

The injured teen curled farther into himself, using a pillow as a shield from hurtful truths. "You keep doing this! WHY?!" There was a second of reprieve as Matthew drew in a sharp breath. "This is the fourth time you've been here this month! And the ninth time this year! It's February, Alfred! Are you TRYING to die?!"

Matthew kept with his tirade, snatching the pillow/shield from his brother. Alfred hugged his knees as a replacement. Neither male seemed aware of the audience in the room.

"Hon hon hon~ Mon chére Matthieu est trés mignon, oui?"

The voice went unheard by both siblings along with the following response.

"Just because your charge grew some balls since the last time I saw him doesn't mean you did, Frog."

Atop a sterile cupboard in a corner of the hospital room, Arthur sent a scathing glare at the French man. Despite the murderous emotions, the other responded with a chuckle as he floated beside the ranting male. He cooed at his charge, muttering compliments that Arthur could not hear. The green eyed being sighed, sliding off his seat.

"As much as I agree with you, Matthew, I want you to stop. You're going to make Alfred cry." Arthur spoke, striding over to Alfred's bedside. His actions garnered a sympathetic glance from the other spectral being. It was unfair, really.

Francis Bonnefoy was an angel. Responsible for the well being of the human being called Matthew Williams. And, with the almost countless number of feathers gracing his wings, he could fly.

Arthur was an angel. Guardian of the human, Alfred F. Jones. And, on each wing was the graceful silhouette of six feathers. Twelve in all.

One for every remaining month in the life of Alfred F. Jones.

"Damn it, Alfred! Take care of yourself for God's sake!" Matthew rubbed the tears from his eyes, concluding his tirade. For the rest of his life, he would be ignorant that an angel had influenced him to stop.

"I'm real sorry, Mattie," Alfred whispered, untangling himself as he peeked out at his twin. Matthew dropped the snatched pillow back onto Alfred's lap as he seated himself down on the edge of the bed.

The American glanced at the doorway of his hospital room, in response, confirming the lack of peering eyes. Once the absence of witnesses was deemed, Alfred opened his arms up to his twin.

"Hug!" the blue eyed boy requested, keeping his eyes wide open with a bottom lip tremble. For a nineteen year old, the gesture was as genuine it could get. It made Matthew laugh.

"Y'know, we've got the same face, Al! It's weird seeing you do that, eh." Despite the comment, the younger of the two twins leaned into the hug – completing the embrace. He leaned his head onto Alfred's shoulder.

"Just don't do it again, okay?" Matthew whispered. "I don't want to lose you, eh."

The place in which Matthew kept his head was the perfect place to hide his tears. He bit his lip, holding back another sob when Alfred did not answer him. "Al?"

Matthew was unnerved by the man's silence. He pushed his elder twin away, keeping the man at the arm's length. Alfred gave him a nervous chuckle as he glanced away; he couldn't look his brother in the eye.

"Sorry, Mattie! But, I'm as hero, remember? I save people?" Alfred replied, bring up an arm to flex his muscles. Unfortunately, both limbs were covered in bandages. "I gotta help everyone I can!"

Alfred spread his arms again for another embrace. But, for the second time around, he forced the hug. "Heroes get hurt sometimes, y'know."

Matthew could feel his brother smile against his neck. "Don't worry though! I'll be okay!"

Arthur watched in silence at the heart wrenching family reunion. To any other, the sight of the two brother would grip at one's hear simply because of the untainted affection – the unbreakable bond of brotherhood. But, the green eyed male was not any other.

He was an angel. And any angel could see that this could see that the scene that unfolded was a prelude to tragedy. There was no doubt. Evidence of that was the green eyed beings reflection.

An ugly sight. A weakened sight. Wings almost bare – a glow that was almost invisible. Without them, the man could have been thought to be human. But, Arthur was not human.

The green eyed being trod towards his charge, reaching an arm towards the boy. He placed a grip on Alfred's wrist, focusing as he stared at the boy's happy face. Unaware of the angel's presence, the American continued to chat joyously with his brother. Unknowing of the kindness that Arthur was bestowing on him.

"Don't overdo it, mon ami," Francis remarked, leaning in to watch as the green eyed male worked. Even though there was no immediate change to Alfred's being, an encroachment of red began to crawl up from the blue eyed male's wrist. It crawled up the angel's arm, bulging like veins -pulsing with an ugly purple. They encircled Arthur's arm, moving to the next before stopping. Then they cracked. The very image of them was a reflection of Alfred's own injuries, only devoid of red fluid.

"There. I just reduced your sodding healing time by six months." Arthur dropped his arms by his side, seating himself on the bed corner opposite from Matthew. The marks remained."As if I'd let you spend half your remaining life in a hospital bed."

**USUK**

"Can't you go back to Canada next week?!" Alfred whined, clinging onto his brother's suitcase as Matthew dragged it across the airport. It looked as a child would, screaming as their parents pushed a shopping cart along market aisles.

"Alfred! I took a week off school so I could visit you, eh! You're better, I have to go!" Matthew struggled with his carry-on, heading off to the airport security lines. "My flight's in an hour, I have to get to the gate!"

The violet eyed twin, took back his bag. Despite his actions, his heart twinged at the sight of the watering eyes of his sibling. "I have spring break in a month, Al! I'll visit you, then,."

Alfred let out a nonbelligerent noise, though he backed away from his brother with a nod. "You better, Mattie! Or else, I'm coming over to get ya out of there. Isn't it like really cold up there?"

Matthew sighed, stepping into the security line. "Really cold, Al. I'll see ya, eh." He waved goodbye, zigzagging towards the airport gates. Alfred was left behind, waving to a retreating back. He mouthed soft comments to himself. "It's real quiet when you're not here, Mattie."

Arthur stayed by Alfred's side, ignoring Francis' shouts of au revoir. It was during times like this the angel wished his human could hear him. So he could say: Don't worry, I'm here. I'll protect you.

But, Alfred couldn't. So Arthur simply stood in silence.

**USUK**

The American woke up in a hospital bed two hours after he left the airport. It could have been labelled a miracle – the rate that these things happened. From the first step towards his apartment building, he had given up three taxis for other, more urgent looking, people. Helped four ladies cross the road and up stairs, one of which he tripped and dislocated his shoulder(of course, Arthur healed it before the man could notice, but still.) And had almost made it home with no major injuries. But, as luck would have it, the hero Alfred F. Jones had to come across a scuffle in an alleyway with four other people.

"You stupid fool."

Alfred glanced up, pouting at the Austrian that stood at the door – Doctor Roderich Edelstein. "Mr. Jones, you left this hospital miraculously healed from a car crash last week. Why are you here again?"

Arthur answered before his charge had a chance "Because he's a bloody idiot, that's why!"

The angel was seated at the end of the bed, glaring at the blue eyed human. "What kind of person jumps into a fight with four sodding people?! Your brother just told you to take care of yourself! But, did you listen?!"

Alfred pouted at the wall and away from his doctor, unaware that by doing so, he was staring right at Arthur. "I had my head bashed into a brick wall?"

"You could have died, Mr. Jones," the doctor stated.

"As if I'd let him. He's not fated to die anyways," was the angel's unheard response.

The Austrian doctor strode gracefully into the room, stopping at Alfred's bed side. "You are very lucky that you have medical insurance, Mr. Jones." He allowed a wary glance at the clipboard in his hand. "The impact to the wall ruptured your right eardrum. And because one of the perpetrators -all of which the police have caught, I assure you – threw rocks in your face, your left eye is damage. Debris in your eyeball...You're lucky someone found you right away and called an ambulance."

"No, he isn't. I could have fixed everything before he woke up!" Arthur butt in, scowling. "Then, he wouldn't have noticed any injuries at all! But all because someone had to find him, I can't. Since you human beings can't stand the idea of an injury just disappearing!"

"I'll prescribe some medicine to ward off the pain and infection, but other than a few more tests you're free to go home. You'll have to keep your injuries wrapped and come in for a hospital visit every week though."

Alfred dropped back in his pillow, noting the familiarity of the hospital. He groaned, closing his one good eye. "Have at me, doc."

**USUk**

"This is ridiculous." Arthur remarked, glaring at the peaceful man – doused in sleeping pills and unconscious on a bedroom floor. His doctor had advised the American against walking into empty alleyways. So Alfred had strutted into one filled with bright colourful lights and obscene posters pasted on flaking walls. With people half dressed in ten degrees Celsius below zero.

All because a kid had asked the American to accompany him home to the other side of the red-light district.

"You're bloody lucky that it wasn't any worse!" Arthur yelled upon deaf ears. He crouched down beside the sleeping male, emerald eyes invisible behind a mat of blond hair. "Sodding hell, Alfred! You help humans more than angels do!"

Silently, Arthur cursed his fate – hating and loving the fact that he was given such a difficult charge to protect. But, more so, the angel cursed Alfred's fate.

Nineteen years ago, at the dawn of the child's birth, the angel that came to be known as Arthur Kirkland blinked into existence. Feathers had dusted the entire frame of his wings – power and exuberance shown from the angel's entire being despite how small those wings had been.

But then time passed – the first feather was lost. Then the second and the third.

For each month that passed in the life of Alfred F. Jones, a feather would fall. Nineteen years and two hundred and twenty eight feathers were now gone between the angel and his charge.

There was twelve feathers left now; six on each wing.

Alfred had twelve months left. One year to live.

He, the hero who saved people. Who selflessly gave all he had for the happiness of others. He, in twelve months would die. And Arthur – with all the power he had in the world – could not save him.

"Damn it, Alfred. For once, why can't you do something that makes yourself happy?!" Arthur shouted into his knees, grateful for once that no one could see him. His pride would be broken if any living being saw the tears that spilled from his face. Angels didn't cry – shouldn't. The pure image of strength, that was what Arthur should have been. And that was what Arthur was not.

"Be selfish for once! You only have a year left, so put your happiness above everyone else's!" Arthur knew he shouldn't say these things. He knew that by definition, they were blasphemous. Happiness for all others was key. But, it was unfair.

Life was cruel. And fate even worse.

Earlier, Alfred had given his jacket to one of the women on the red light district. He had said: 'because, you look cold, miss.' And he walked on.

Then the woman had pawned it off for another joint, the kindness Alfred had given her was wasted. Arthur saw. Even if Alfred didn't. And the angel protecting her still had much more feathers than even he.

"I...can't change the decisions you make, Alfred. Free will and all that shite you humans have." Arthur muttered softly into his knees. "I can't stop your accidents either. I can only choose to heal the aftermath."

Another stray tear dropped from Arthur's cheeks. "You can't hear me if I yell for you to watch out...I can't really bloody protect you."

Arthur placed his hand on Alfred's head, focusing once more. The encroachment appeared once more on his body, reaching his eyes and his ears. His hearing disappeared for a moment as well as his sight. They returned a few minutes later In the morning, the blue eyed male would be healthy. For the year that they had left to be together, he'd be be alright. Arthur would make sure of that.

The angel leaned in, kissing Alfred's cheek. "I'll be right here 'til you die, Alfred. Always.

**Usuk**

Alfred felt the rays of the sun burn at his face through an open curtain. Saliva was sticking to his cheek, coagulating with all the dust his apartment floor had gathered into a dark grey goo. His joints were sore as hell and his mouth tasted like the hospital crap that he had eaten yesterday afternoon. The butterscotch pudding at the back of his jaw wasn't bad. Other than that, he was peachy.

There was no weird ringing in his ears, no itch of his eye that he wasn't allowed to scratch.

Not bad.

The American trudged to his bathroom, grabbing a towel to dab his face. No water in the eye - doctor's orders accompanied with a threat of murder if not followed. Alfred stared at his reflection in the mirror, surveying the damage. There was no bruise nor cut beyond the bandages that he could make note of. Strange, but he was always a fast healer.

"Well, if you'd bloody hurry up, it's Monday. Your classes start in an hour."

Alfred twitched, quickly turning his head to the right wildly. He heard a voice – a deep British voice from where his toilet was. The American rubbed his head; did he get a concussion too? Or was the toilet really talking to him? The American shook his head. It was his imagination.

But still. His classes started in an hour. Shit.

"You'd better not slip on those tiles and break you neck, Alfred. I spent a lot of power giving back your sight and hearing – you would have bloody lost them, you know."

Alfred's breath stopped. The toilet knew his name. No way he was going to sit his ass on the thing now. What if it started commenting when he did his business? Or remarked on his size?

The American glanced back at the toilet. Really, he might have to see Dr. Edelstein again. Maybe the meds the guy have him was too strong. 'Cause if the toilet was speaking to him...

Alfred reached into the cupboard under the sink, grabbing his first aid kit for an extra set of bandages. He balanced it on his sink, slowly peeling the soiled bandages from his face.

"No use putting new ones, I practically healed them. I just left the bruises so no one gets suspicious."

Alfred flinched – he was getting scared now. Phantom voices from his right. What if it was ghost? If it was, he needed to run. Before the ghost got mad and the cops found him frozen dead in fear, staring at his toilet. They would definitely ask themselves: What did he see in the toilet bowl?

Slowly, the American stared at the bruise on his left eyes – the voice was right though: he could see. Yes, in the corner of the mirror, he could see a man seated on his toilet. Dressed in a white toga, green eyes staring right at Alfred, even when hidden behind thick blond hair. And eyebrows. His eyebrows was definitely staring at Alfred too.

No way was the guy sitting there before.

"Uh, what are you doing in my apartment?" Alfred asked, nervously turning towards the man. He remembered walking through the red light district. So, not a ghost? "Shit. Did I sleep with you?"

Alfred watched as the green eyed male's mouth gaped. The man's stare was more attentive now, his entire body freezing with his eyes on the blond haired American. Neither said a word as Alfred found a specific spot behind the man to stare at.

Wings. This man had wings.

**USUK**

_A/N: Thanks for reading this chapter 'til the end. Reviews make me really happy. And, uh, so does hugs. Feel free to critique grammar also, that'd be great, And warm weather. Ha ha, the weather's been crazy up here where I like. It was -25C (-43C if you include windshield) just the other day and now it's up to 3C. Hahaha. I'll shut up now. Curse social awkwardness._


	2. A lie for every angel

Arthur twisted his head, following Alfred's line of sight. Behind him, a simple light-blue tile wall still gentle with grime descended behind an acrylic bathtub. It housed only the tiny bath doll Alfred played with; Tony was what the human called it. An ugly alien thing that held no interest in seeing.

Yet, the angel had no doubt - something had caught the American's attention. Not him though. It couldn't be him. Because it was impossible.

"Hey, you alright?"

The angel returned his face back to his charge. Alfred's eyes were unwavering – always had been since birth. Blue like the sky, clear as an ocean. And staring right at him. Specifically behind him.

At his wings.

The grotesque appendages that counted down the human's life span. His own clock that ticked away life until death.

Arthur gazed at the human with widened eyes. Both his mind and mouth were silenced by dumb shock.

Alfred could see the state of his wings. He would know.

The ugliness of him: an unspeakable reminder that Alfred was going to die not even a full year from this exact moment.

No. No no no no no.

_Please God no._

"Don't look at me!" Arthur lashed out in a sudden fit, propelling himself backwards into the bath tub. Strangely, the angel's fall was silent. The world held not evidence outside the contingent noise that the spectre existed. That and the sight of the green eyed male tangled in his own limbs within a concave construction.

Just like the hero he was, Alfred immediately sprung forward. He offered a hand to the fallen angel out of courteous gesture. Yet Arthur could only flinch back – not in fear or disgust – but panicked confusion.

_ How _could Alfred see him?

"Dude, I'm not going to hurt you or anything." Alfred let out a comforting chuckle, easing the seriousness of their exchange.

"Did you want to have breakfast? I'm sure I've got toast and eggs in the kitchen." He scratched his cheek. "'Course I gotta cook 'em up first but..."

Alfred laughed nervously again. "Y-you were probably wanted to use the bathroom, right?" Another scratch to his cheek. The man was going to bear a hole in his face. "I, uh, this kind of thing has never happened to me before."

_No bloody kidding, _was the angel's thought.

Arthur stared at the blue eyed mam with a confused scowl. There was something wrong with the way Alfred was acting. Sometimes, when the angel had been bored – no one to talk to, nothing to see – he had imagined situations like this: the what-ifs of life.

What if Alfred ever saw him?

What if Alfred's life span was longer?

What if Arthur was human?

The answer to the first was always a mix of reactions. Always along the lines of: what the fuck, it's an angel! But...

Alfred laughed again, his eyes glancing to the floor. "I could grab you some tylenol or aspirin if your hips hurt..."

_Ah. That was the explanation. He still thought they had sex._

"Um, the things on your back...is it something we used last night..? Role play..?" The American's cheeks tinged red at the thought. "You can take them off if you want."

He paced closer towards the angel, reaching his hands to pluck the wings off the man. "I think you slept on them...they're all crumpled and broken."

Arthur felt his heart crack at the words. Crumpled and broken – that's how Alfred saw them. "Don't touch them!"

Alfred froze under the order, taking caution as to not agitate the man any further.

"We didn't have sex!" Arthur shouted, his face red despite the scowl. He took a step out of the concave facility, still wary of Alfred's eyes. He allowed himself to hide his wings – Alfred didn't need to see them more than he already had.

"How can you see me?"

The spectral being peered up at Alfred's face, noting the man's face fall into puzzlement. It was to be expected.

"Uh, of course I can see you. You're right in front of me."

Arthur's own visage twisted at the irony of Alfred's words.

_'I've always been __in front of__ you. __S__ince you were born. __And u__ntil you die__,' _was what the angel wanted to say. But, all that left his lips was: "You shouldn't be able to sodding see me."

Alfred's face lit up at the angel's statement - an unexpected reaction. "I get it!"

When Arthur's expression only reflected befuddlement, Alfred dove into a quick explanation: "You're still in character, right!?" He scratched his head, chuckling in embarassment. "Sorry, but I honestly don't remember anything last night. My doc gave me a bunch of meds, ya see, and uh..."

No matter how kind Alfred was – how courteous and genia, he could be - Arthur couldn't help but think: _he's a bloody idiot._

"I'm not doing any sodding roleplay!" Arthur yelled right into the other man's face. Alfred's eyes widened at both the close proximity and volume, stepping backwards from the angel. His reaction pulled Arthur out his thoughts as the green eyed male allowed himself to calm. His job was to protect – not frighten. The spectre frowned, collecting himself before facing the man directly: eye to eye. For a single moment, Arthur felt empowered by the eye contact. Never, in Alfred's nineteen years of life, have they ever seen each other face to face.

"I'm an angel," Arthur stated, deciding on the blunt statement that he had always practised in his mind. Alfred only chuckled again. "Thought you weren't doing role-play."

Arthur bit the inside of his lip. Of course Alfred didn't believe him. But still, the angel continued to try. "I'm really an angel! You saw my wings!"

In response, Alfred stepped up onto his tip toes, trying to take another peek at the angel's wings. But, Arthur had already hidden them. And he wasn't about to show them again.

"Hey, they're gone. Where'd you hide them?" The American stepped past his guardian, peering into his bathtub. He glanced back at the angel. "You sure? Aren't angel wings supposed to be huge feathery things that reach up to sky?" Alfred made the motion of stretching his eyes up to the ceiling. "Like this? 'Cause the ones you had were really small n' tiny."

The green eyed male bit his lip harder with every motion from the American. Arthur was sure that if he was human, he'd be bleeding by now.

"They're small because..." Arthur's started. _It's because you're going to die soon. _"It reflects how strong I am."

For an angel to lie was against the laws of highest heaven. But, Arthur wasn't – he simply told a half-truth. An angels wings _did _reflect his powers; because, the closer a human was to death, the less they needed an angel to protect them. And by the last feather, he would have no power. Because the dead did not need to be protected.

Then he would fade away from the world, unknowing of where he would go.

"So, you're really weak, then?" Alfred continued on with his childish cruelty. It was always the truly innocent ones that were both loved and hated. "Wow, you've really worked out you're character. Weird though. I'm usually not into S&M play."

Arthur's hands clenched at his side as he made for another shout. "I'm no-"

"Um, hey, let's eat first, okay? I'm starving!" the blue eyed male declared, making a grab for the angel's wrist. Arthur began to pull his arm away, afraid for what was to come. His fears were solid; because, Alfred never touched him.

He couldn't. His hand went through.

Alfred could see him. He could hear him.

He could not touch him.

"What?" the American stared at what was supposed to be the contact point. Arthur's wrist were opaque, he could not see the white floor tiles behind it. But still, it felt like nothing but air.

Alfred stared at his own hand, using his opposite limb to grab at his own arm; it was as if he was trying to prove his own existence. Wrist still in his own grip, the American looked up at the other male. The colour of his skin was visibly paling. His cheeks were lost of the usual pink hue – all because of fear, fear, fear.

Of Arthur. As if he was a monster.

"G-ghost." Alfred uttered under his breath, his limbs beginning to lock. He let his feet guide him before they, like his arms, froze in place. Right through Arthur, he ran. The door slammed behind him, frantic steps receding from the bathroom exit. Another slam, Alfred had left his apartment.

Bloody hell.

Arthur forced his own body to move, running through the doors and walls towards his charge. A five meter distance – that was all he gave for separation with Alfred. Anything else and the American would probably get into an accident that Arthur couldn't heal him of. Like getting his fingers sawed off. It was always a possibility; the man worked at a construction site.

The angel raced as much as his legs allowed – with the exception of always knowing Alfred's location and passing through walls – there was no other way he could be distinguished from a human. "Bloody hell, Alfred! I'm not a ghost."

Arthur located his charge speeding through the hall towards the stairwell. Why, oh why, the American didn't want to take the elevator was a well known answer. All the sodding horror movies taught the boy that elevators were a no go.

The two of them passed Alfred's Japanese neighbour. But

neither blond's paid any mind as each were focused with the goal ahead of them. Alfred with the exit and Arthur with Alfred.

"Arthur! Keep an eye on your charge, aru! He almost knocked Kiku over!"

The green eyed male glanced at the black haired angel calling from behind him. He waved an affirmative before continuing on. "Alfred! Slow down! You'll fall!"

Upon hearing his name, Alfred turned, fulfilling the prediction of his guardian. Because just like that, his footing was lost. And just like that, he descended an entire flight of stairs in midair, his eyes right Arthur.

And then, his neck simply snapped. Broke on the soiled brown carpet of a cheap apartment complex.

Game over. Just like that.

"Alfred!"

No matter how many times Arthur saw Alfred injured. Broken bones, burns, punctures, slashes – the shock was always fresh. The fear forever stabbing at his heart whenever the blue eyed male refused to move. Refused to smile. To laugh.

Eyes – clouded and dull: unseeing.

Skin – pale and cold.

Heart – unbeating.

Lungs – unbreathing.

The angel rushed down the last set of stairs towards his charge. He knelt beside the male, touching his hands to Alfred's neck – feeling the injuries and surveying the damage. It seemed that it was only when he stole away the American's injuries that world allowed them to touch.

_Only when Alfred was dying could Arthur be with him._

The man's spinal cord was intact – he was okay. Just a few cracks on the spinal column. Nothing Arthur couldn't fix.

The angel focused, attracting the injuries to his own body. Like veins they encroached him, forming a ring around his neck before sinking into flesh.

"Alfred-san!"

Arthur didn't move as the Japanese male rushed passed him, genuinely worried for the American's well-being. "Are you alright?!"

Alfred chuckled, turning his head to the other man. "You're speaking Japanese again, Kiku. I don't understand."

The American's speech was slightly slurred, the dizziness of the fall still getting to him. Kiku'a face scrunched as his raven hair fell over pale skin and delicate features. He pulled out his phone. "I was speaking English, Alfred-san. I'm calling the ambulance, don't move."

"There's no need. He's fine." Arthur looked down at the fallen male. "Alfred, get up. You're fine."

"Reallu, aru! If you keep healing him right after, he's not going to learn from his mistakes!"

The Chinese angel floated beside the Briton, showing off the lovely set of wings in his possession. The man ran a hand over his hair, tightening his ponytail behind his neckline.

"You spoil him, aru." The black haired angel spoke, bending over to survey Arthur's work. "It'd have been better to heal the injury gradually. That way, they'll learn from it."

Arthur glanced up at his colleague, his face impassive. He refused to answer. Repeatedly, the two always had the same conversation.

"Alfred tends to get injuries tend to be incapacitating. They'd last years, if not his entire life. I don't want that," Arthur would say. And, to that Yao would reply: "But, if you wait, aru. The chances of him getting into another accident would be slimmer. Because he'd be more careful, aru."

Silence would only be another answer, to which the Chinese spectre would speak again: "Oh, I forgot. He doesn't have much of a span left to l-"

"Shut up, Yao." Arthur broke their routine, paying mind to his charge as the man's head began to clear. Again, his blue eyes were staring right at him.

"Alfred-san?" Kiku broke Alfred's gaze as the American turned his head towards his name. "What are you looking at?"

"I see angels," the blond muttered, his voice barely above the sound of the air. "They're arguing 'bout me."

The Japanese man's eyebrows furrowed. "The ambulance is coming soon, Alfred. They'll take a good look at your head...I believe you might have a concussion."

Alfred made a failed attempt to stand up, only to be kept restrained by his neighbour. "It's not a good idea to move after receiving a head injury, Alfred-san."

The American whined, his head against the brown carpet. "But, Kiku, I got classes in an hour." He pointed at Arthur. "That angel told me when he was sitting on the toilet."

"So you only think I'm an angel when you have a concussion." the green eyed being scoffed, reaching his hand down to the American's head. He'd been too busy with the broken neck to notice the rest of the man's injuries. But, before he could, Yao stopped him.

"Why can he see you, aru?!" the angel stared at his younger colleague with a mix of shock and disapproval. "You know that it's against the rules! You could be punished for this!"

Arthur ignored the male, jerking his hand away. He continued on with his focus.

Slowly, Alfred's eyes cleared. His cheeks returned to its original hue.

"Fuck, my head hurts," the American groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He bypassed Kiku's attempts to keep him down. With a stretch of his hands, the American jumped to his feet. "Um, Kiku, thanks and all, but, I think I'm fine." He sent a quick glance at the green eyed angel. Arthur nodded. "You're fine...and...no. He can't see me."

The American nodded, quickly marching back up the stairs from whence he came. His neighbour was left shouting up at him in concern as Alfred turned up a flight of stairs. He backtracked to his apartment door, flinging it open and shutting it an instant. Arthur was left on the doormat, staring at the number 396 on the American's door plate. Easily though, the angel stepped through the entrance, peeking into the entrance hall. All he saw was a fistful of sand-like particles pass through his face and into the door.

"Fuck! Why isn't it working?!"

The spectre allowed himself to slide his entire body into the apartment, peering at the bag of particles that Alfred had just thrown at him.

Table salt.

Arthur just had to ask. "Why are throwing bloody salt at me?"

Alfred immediately dropped the bag, eyes widening in horror. "There's blood on my salt?" He kicked the package away from him. "I've been eating that!"

The green eyed male sighed, taking another step closer to his charge. With every advance he took, Alfred took another step back.

"Why didn't you burst into flames?! Aren't ghosts supposed to be weak against salt?" the American demanded, using his fingers to form a make-shift cross. Arthur sighed once more, the length of time that Alfred's ignorance prolonged the farce weighed his heart down.

"I told you! I'm an angel."

Alfred's expression remained unbelieving. "You don't look like one!"

Arthur sighed, floating past Alfred to the two-seater dining table centred in the man's kitchen. He made the motion to sit down. That was one thing that hadn't changed in his situation: his ability to use the furniture as long as he didn't move it.

"Have you ever seen an angel other than me, Alfred?" Arthur asked, simply staring at wooden surface in front of him. The staining of Alfred's dinner table was peeling, the dark, mahogany brown flaking into a shade of beige.

"That Asian dude floating above Kiku was one, right?" Alfred stood wary at the entrance of his kitchen. His apartment was a simple one bedroom – he didn't need any more than one – with the kitchen and living room connected with an open entrance. Behind him, was a simple black leather couch (a two-seater for when Mattie swung by!), and a twenty-two inch flat screen. The walls were a finnish blue colour, covered with numerous posters. All of them being of recent movies. A simple, typical set up for a nineteen year old American bachelor. Though, if any ghost decided to attack him, he'd have no where to hide. "But, he had the wings! The big fluffy ones that everyone knows about! Yours were all small and weird!"

Arthur stared at his charge with a silent frown, his eyebrows scrunched up to the centre. His hair was hiding his face: the expression of almost crying unseen by human eyes. Arthur wasn't used to hiding his tears; usually, there was no one around him that could see. And the green eyed male knew – knew that Alfred was only saying what he was saying out of ignorance. Not malice.

"Every angel has different wings!" the green eyed male insisted, hoping that Alfred wouldn't go any more further than that. But, of course, the American was never one to go with a person's expectations.

"Why?"

The angel bit his lip at the question. Hadn't he already answered it before? When Alfred had said that they were crumpled and broken? What else could he say?

"No angel is the same! So..." Arthur faltered, struggling with an answer. "So our wings are just like your finger prints. They're different."

Arthur glanced back down at Alfred's coffee table. Wooden lines swirled along the surface – that table was unique as well: no other like it.

"So, let's say you are an angel." Alfred took a step into the kitchen, still cautious of the seated spectre. He swerved around the table, pacing along the black tile kitchen counter at the other end of the space. For a moment, the blue eyed male contemplated if he should make a cup of coffee. He shook his head, deciding to deal with the situation at hand first. "If you are an angel..." he repeated, keeping his eyes on Arthur. "Why are you here?"

The angel froze, his body shuddering as he forced himself not to flinch or look away from his charge. He didn't know why he felt anxious to answer the simple question. All he had to say was: "I'm your guardian angel. I exist to protect you."

But, somewhere along the lines he felt that something was wrong. Yet, he didn't know what exactly. Maybe, it was because, in the end he'd have to tell the human his story book ending: You're going to die because you were unlucky enough to be born with an angel that wasn't strong enough to last more than two decades.

"I'm your guardian." Despite his worries, Arthur had nothing else to say. At least nothing worth saying that wouldn't be a lie.

Silence perused the room for the next few moments as Alfred decided to boil water. He grabbed two mugs from the kitchen cabinets, pouring them equally with water and instant coffee. Coffee whitener and sugar in hand, he brought them to the table, shoving them in front of the angel.

"I don't know how you take your coffee..." he pointed to one of the two cups, pushing it closer to the angel. He filled his own with four spoonfuls of sugar topped with an equal amount of whitener. Then the American waited for Arthur.

Arthur alternated his glances between both his cup and his charge before reaching his hand towards the ceramic mug. It passed right through.

"You can't touch it?" Alfred frowned. He ducked his head under the table. "But you're sitting on the chair. I can see your legs touching it."

Arthur changed posture, keeping his legs closed as his cheeks tinged red. He didn't bother mentioning it though. Alfred had finally calmed; there was no way that he was going to ruin that by bringing up the issue.

"I can come in contact with inanimate objects as long as I don't move them." Arthur glanced up at the human. Alfred was staring into his coffee, watching the whitener dissolve and lighten the black liquid. "I'm not allowed to interfere with the world unless my charge's life is threatened, I suppose."

"And that's me?" Alfred asked. The cream had already set in, unable to hold the American's attention any longer. Arthur answered with a nod.

"That's bull!" the American proclaimed, standing up and heading back towards the bathroom. Arthur watched him for a moment before heading to his side. Alfred turned to him, frowning. "You don't have to follow me!"

Arthur opened his mouth to answer. "I..." The teenager interrupted. "I'm a hero! I don't need anyone protecting me!"

The angel paused in place, watching as Alfred stepped into the bathroom. He remained silent in all but his thoughts. Alfred's answer was typical. The typical human response – believing that all good things were of their own work; while, one the other hand, they blamed misfortune on anything but themselves.

Typical, typical humans. Arthur didn't know how to deal with them.

"I mean, I've done good so far, right? Few injuries here and there but I've been doing alright even before you showed up. So you can go home or somewhere." Alfred dabbed ointment on his face, rubbing it into the bruise around his eye. He didn't understand. The American didn't understand the hardships that Arthur went through, for nineteen years, for 365 day per year. It was cruel.

Arthur decided to step in, using his powers for once when Alfred wasn't confused nor unconscious. If words didn't make the American believe, then actions would fare better. The angel reached his hand over, focusing as his powers allowed his to caress Alfred's face. Again, vein-like marks encroached the contact point, moving along his body until they surrounded his own eye. They remained for a few moments before sinking in and disappearing.

Alfred was staring at him with shock, his mouth flapping. He turned to the mirror, poking at his upper cheek as Arthur spoke. "I didn't just sodding show up, Alfred. I've always been here."

"Like since I was a kid?" the American still had his face to the mirror, though he was watching Arthur's reflection as the angel answered. "Yes."

"So, all the times I got hurt, you healed it." Alfred walked to the door motioning Arthur to move aside. It was a wonder why the man didn't just walk through him. He could have. "Why can I see you now though? I've never seen you before."

The ultimate question – the inquisition that Arthur could not answer. In the past, Arthur had healed multiple eye injuries that the American had sustained. Infections. Pink eye. Bruises. All times, he hadn't been able to see angels afterwards. So, why now?

"Am I going to die soon or something?" Alfred asked, still watching the spectre even as he strutted over to the couch. He fell into it. "I saw a movie like that once. This guy started seeing weird things 'cause he was close to death and pretty much one of them."

Arthur flinched back. The barrage of questions he could not, nor want to answer stabbing into his being. How to answer? What to say?

Even angels were clueless sometime.

"Well?" Alfred glanced at the holy being with expectation as he draped himself over his sofa. If not for the situation, Arthur could almost laugh. The man was always the adaptable type. Even though green eyed male had imagined such scenarios as the current one, Alfred – in his dreams, had never adapted so quickly. Yet, here he was, sprawled on furniture – already used to the idea of an angel hovering over him.

Really, Arthur could have laughed. If the answer to the human's question wasn't choking him, he would have.

Arthur swallowed, his mind racing once more. He wished for once that he had more power, then maybe he could stop the clock – freeze the very moment. Buy himself more time to answer and more time for Alfred to live. The angel opened his mouth to tell the truth.

"Ye-" Arthur stopped before his answer could be understood. _Yes, you're going to die. _That was all he had say.

But more questions had invaded him mind. What would Alfred do if he found out? Would he not be devastated? He'd panic, beg Arthur for life that the angel could not give – wouldn't he? Life to spend with his love ones. Life to enjoy life. Life that neither Alfred nor Arthur had. If the green eyed male told the truth, wouldn't it ruin the time Alfred had left?

It would.

Arthur swallowed his previous answer. He glanced at Alfred's expectant face. The truth would make any chance of a smile gracing the man's face disappear. Arthur didn't want that. He wanted Alfred to smile – lots – in the twelve months he had. Be happy. Absent of worries.

And thus, the angel lied.

"You..." Arthur started again. He forced a smile towards his charge, attempting to ease the man's worries in every way he could. The green eyed male hoped that his first lie would be a solid one. "Heaven decided that you should be rewarded for your heroic deeds."

The angel racked his brain. What was he doing? What was he going to do? Arthur's voice shuddered as he continued on. Every word he spoke was a crime against heaven now.

"I'm here to grant you anything you wish."

USUK:

_Hi. It's family day at my place right now so I'm gonna go ahead and wish you all a Happy Family Day. Sorry if I haven't answered any review questions but, I don't wanna spoil anything. Mwa ha ha ha ha *cough cough* . Gotta keep you on your toes. On another note, I'm getting a Guinea Pig for my 'legal in Canada' birthday. Haha, I mentioned to one of my friends that my parents were going to get me one and he was like: 'Let me buy it! I don't know what to give you 'cause I don't know where they sell anime stuff in this city!' Hahaha!_

_Reviews are nice._


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